


Terrible Twos

by RedTeamShark



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Author Chose Not To Tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 04:28:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16866133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTeamShark/pseuds/RedTeamShark
Summary: “Everything is going to be okay, Michael.” “Mikey.” “Mikey, right. Everything is going to be okay.”





	Terrible Twos

**Author's Note:**

> Proper warnings, tags, etc, may come in the future. For the time being I'm frantically transferring my content to a stable platform amidst growing concerns about tumblr's inevitable implosion.
> 
> Apologies for flooding the fandom page.

“Mail call!” Ray declared as he entered the office, passing out letters and packages. Michael took his with a grunt, stuffing the items under his desk for later contemplation. He was right in the middle of editing Rage Quit, really wanted nothing more than to get it done and over with—listening to himself screaming was irritating and thanks to a computer crash he’d had to listen for twice as long.

With a sigh, he finally took his headphones off, hands running through his hair and pushing his hat off. The curly-haired man reseated the beanie, stretching and cracking his back, surprised at the quiet of the office. He looked around, frowning slightly as he spotted Ryan at his desk, the others gone. His stomach grumbled and Michael checked his phone, laughing slightly. Lunch time, that explained it. He’d been so wrapped up in his work, he must have missed everyone else leaving.

Pushing his chair away from his desk, Michael craned his neck to see through the window on the door that led to the secondary office—Lindsay was in there, headphones on her ears, but Caleb and Kdin were nowhere to be found. Rolling his chair back to his desk, Michael kicked something under it. He leaned down, remembering the mail he’d tossed under there and pulling it out. Three letters and a package. He contemplated them, shrugging and opening the package up first. There was something inside, protected from the roughness of shipping by newspapers, and he quickly removed the item with a smile. He loved when fans sent things, especially if they could be used to decorate his desk.

It was a small box with a hinge, so he quickly flipped it open. Almost immediately a smell overwhelmed him and Michael jerked back. His head felt swimmy, suddenly, the world shifting out of focus. What the fuck…?

The other letters and the newspaper the strange box had been wrapped in slipped to the floor as he slumped down in his chair.

–

Lindsay stood at the door, feeling rooted in place.  _Move_ , she tried to tell herself, a fine tremble running through her as Michael slumped to the floor on the other side of the glass.  _Move, goddammit!_

Her hand lifted, pressing to the door’s window, though she still couldn’t make an effort to move her feet, to open the door and rush to her fiancé. She had to,  _had to_ , but she just  _couldn’t_. Ryan was in the room with Michael, headphones still on, still unaware of what had happened. She’d only caught it because she’d looked up as Michael opened the box, shot to her feet without knowing why.

Her paralysis shattered like glass, hands fumbling with the doorknob, forcing it open. She stumbled into the room, falling to her knees beside him and pulling him to her chest, shaking him lightly. “Michael, Michael!”

He came to slowly, swatting at her without opening his eyes. “Go ‘way. Sleepy…” He muttered and she sighed in relief. He wasn’t dead, that had been her first panic-stricken conclusion, that whatever happened to him had killed him. That wasn’t the case, though, whatever it was seemed to have only knocked him out…

“Michael, wake up, come on…” She whispered, pressing kisses to his cheeks. “Please,  _please_ , open your eyes.”

Brown eyes met hers, blinking in confusion. “Quit kissin’ me.  _Gross_.” He whispered, making her let loose a small, nervous laugh. Michael squirmed out of her arms, sitting up and rubbing his head. “I’m  _tired_.” He muttered, crossing his arms and pouting. “How come you stopped my nap?”

It clicked that there was something wrong with him, something…  _off_  about the way he sounded. His words were slow and somewhat slurry, almost as if he’d been drinking. But he sounded… childish. Lindsay frowned, looking over towards the box that he’d opened before falling. “Michael, what happened?”

His nose scrunched up in distaste, eyes on her. “Michael’s a dumb name, call me Mikey.” He muttered, pushing himself to his feet unsteadily, wiping his hands absently on his pants. He moved across the room slowly, gaining confidence in his steps as he walked. “Where’re my toys? Where’s my lunch? I’m  _hungry_.” An accusing gaze turned on Lindsay, Michael’s cheeks slowly going red.

“Mikey…” She repeated, also standing, moving over to him slowly. Something was wrong. Something was very,  _very_  wrong. “I… We’ll get some lunch and then find your toys, okay?” She hesitated, offering a smile and holding her hand out to him. “Come on.”

“Lindsay?” Ryan’s voice cut in and the redhead girl turned, seeing the sharp frown on her former deskmate’s face. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” Michael’s hand closed over hers, and Lindsay bit down a sigh. “But I’m going to figure it out.”

–

“Cut my crusts off.”

“What do you say?” Lindsay questioned without a second thought, glancing at Michael’s reflection in the door of the microwave.

He huffed, crossing his arms again, feet still swinging from the bench. “ _Please_.”

Grabbing a butter knife from the drawer, Lindsay cut the crusts off the sandwich she’d made at her fiancé’s request, rolling her eyes slightly. Peanut butter and banana, a favorite of the elementary school crowd. Still, Michael had asked for it, had smiled sweetly at her and promised to be good and eat the whole thing. She handed over the crustless sandwich, adding a small handful of baby carrots to the plate, and a glass of milk along with it.

The curly-haired man ate quickly and messily, peanut butter smeared over his cheeks and chin, a milk mustache on his upper lip. He pushed away from the table, getting ready to stand from the bench, with a cry of “Done!”

“Hey, eat your carrots.” Lindsay shook her head, poking her fork into her own meal, reheated leftovers from the previous night.

Michael’s attitude changed immediately, his face growing suddenly red, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I don’t  _wanna_  eat my carrots.” He huffed, stomping his foot.

“Michael.” Lindsay narrowed her eyes, pinning him at the table with her stare. “Eat. Your. Carrots.”

Following a prolonged inhale, Michael threw himself to the floor, kicking his feet and pounding his fists. “ _I DON’T WANNA EAT MY CARROTS!_ ” He shrieked at top volume. Somewhere nearby a door slammed. Somewhere further away a door opened, a curious voice calling out to the studio at large to ask if everything was okay.

Lindsay swallowed, moving around the table and kneeling down next to him, careful of his flailing limbs. “Michael, stop it.” She said quietly, a bit desperately. “Please, just… just stop this.”

“ _NONONONO **NONONO**_!” Michael continued to protest at his admittedly impressive top volume, his face turning redder by the moment. There were tears running from his eyes and snot running from his nose, and his hands and feet continued to pound the ground.

“Sounds like my son.” A voice commented behind her, making Lindsay jump. Ryan knelt down, taking her arm and gently pulling her to her feet. “Ignore him. When he calms down and comes back to you—because he will, once he tires himself out—explain why what he did was wrong, have him apologize, then hug him.”

Sending a glance towards Michael’s tear-streaked face and fighting down the urge to cry herself, Lindsay nodded. “I don’t understand what’s going on.” She muttered, letting Ryan lead her back to the table, taking a seat in front of her suddenly unappealing lunch.

“Something weird. He’s acting like he’s two.” Ryan pulled his own lunch from the fridge, popping it into the microwave and leaning on the counter. On the floor, Michael’s flailing had ceased, though he continued to release braying, angry sobs at regular intervals. “What happened?”

Swallowing, Lindsay only shook her head. “I think it has something to do with a package he was sent. He opened some box, then… passed out. And when he woke up he was like this.” She poked at her food as Ryan took a seat across from her, carefully pushing the plate with Michael’s carrots out of the way. “What am I supposed to do, Ryan? Marry a two-year-old in a twenty-six-year-old’s body?”

On the floor, Michael’s angry sobbing had ceased. He continued to sniffle, his head buried in his arms. Lindsay caught him sneaking a glance over at the table, though he quickly looked down again when he saw her looking.

“No. If something changed him, something has to be able to change him back.” Ryan shook his head, sighing. “Do you know how to take care of a toddler?”

“Fuck, no. I barely manage to take care of myse—oh, god, what if he’s not potty trained?” Lindsay winced, looking down. “Ryan… help me. Please, for the love of god, help me.”

A hand reached over the table, patting her arm lightly. “I’ll do what I can.”

Someone nudged her side and Lindsay looked over, offering Michael a small smile. He stood like a little boy, his hands in his pockets and his eyes downcast, occasional sniffles still leaving him. “Lindsay…”

“Yes, Michael?”

“You’re ignorin’ me.”

Lindsay glanced at Ryan, seeing his encouraging nod. “You were being bad.” She answered, reaching up and patting Michael’s shoulder lightly. “You need to eat your lunch without throwing a fuss about it. Do you understand?”

“But I don’t  _wanna_  eat my carrots…” He muttered, eyes welling up again.

Ryan gently pushed the plate over, and Lindsay pulled Michael forward to sit down, her arm over his shoulder. “Not even one carrot?” She offered, nudging the plate lightly. “I thought you  _liked_  carrots.”

Michael glanced between her and the plate, reaching up to roll one of the baby carrots across the smooth surface. He frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t like carrots.”

“Alright, then.” She patted his shoulder, moving the plate away. “But you didn’t need to make a big fuss about it. You made a lot of noise, and there are people trying to work. You’ll have to apologize for that.”

Again, Michael looked down, his cheeks reddening. Lindsay held her breath, ready for another bout of screaming, but he only mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

She hugged him tightly, patting his back gently. “It’s okay.” She whispered, nodding. “Everything is going to be okay, Michael.”

“Mikey.”

“Mikey, right. Everything is going to be okay.”

–

With the obvious exception of Michael still acting like a toddler, the rest of the day actually did border on “okay.” Lindsay took him home, buckling him into the back seat of the car and glad that Ryan had agreed to be on-call with parenting advice. At the apartment, Michael played with his race cars and My Little Pony toys, making loud crashed and performing “super-duper dangerous stuntman jumps” over imagined firey explosions. Lindsay tried to do some online research about what could have caused the apparent regression, trying to sift through fictional information and find any actual facts that might exist.

At bedtime, things fell apart.

Michael started out innocently enough, asking to be read a story before bed. Then he wanted a glass of water. Then he had to pee. Then another story. Lindsay recognized a stalling tactic when she saw one and put her foot down at the second story.

“Can I have my teddy? Where’d teddy? I can’t sleep without teddy!” Michael’s voice rose with panic and Lindsay felt her already frayed nerves close in on the snapping point. Her gaze darted around the room, falling on a stuffed cat Michael had won her at a carnival or something—the closest thing they had to a teddy bear in the apartment. She offered it over to him, sighing with relief when he took it and curled up with it. Maybe now he’d go to sleep…

“Goodnight, Mikey…” She whispered, kissing his forehead. Lindsay stood, moving towards the door and shutting the light off.

“Lindsay!” The shriek from the bed nearly made her jump out of her skin, and the sound of rustling covers and running feet just barely gave her enough time to brace herself before Michael was plowing into her, wrapping his arms around her and tucking his head into her shoulder. “What if there’s a monster in the closet!”

“There’s no monster in the closet.” She assured him, rubbing his back. “I checked when I was getting your pajamas.”

“But monsters can  _hide_  from grown-ups! I can’t sleep in the dark, the monster’ll get me!”

The closest thing they had to a nightlight was probably the touch lamp in the spare bedroom. Lindsay took Michael’s hand firmly, offering a smile that she hoped was reassuring and not indicative of how close to her wits’ end she was. “We’ll get you a nightlight.” She promised, leading him into the spare room. She showed him the lamp, the different light settings on it, and after some contemplation, Michael nodded his approval. Unplugging it, Lindsay carried it back into the bedroom and replaced their usual bedside lamp with it. She put the normal lamp into the closet, promising that she was doing a last check for monsters as well.

Finally, Michael was settled into bed again, the touch lamp next to him on the brightest setting. Lindsay shut off the overhead light, promised once more to leave the door open and come on the run if she heard any monster sounds, and left the room.

She fell onto the couch, groaning as her cell phone rang almost immediately, contemplating ignoring it because seriously, it was all the way on the other side of the living room. Still, the redhead forced herself to her feet, grabbing her phone and answering it without a glance. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Ryan. How are things?”

Lindsay groaned once more, falling onto the couch again. “I’m never having kids.”

“That bad?”

“Well, I finally got him to bed, but he thinks there’s monsters.” She noted, running a hand through her hair.

“I know that game. And lemme guess, first it was drinks of water, stories, stuffed animals?”

“And trips to the bathroom. I just hope he’s asleep now. I’m ready to pass out. How the hell do people do this full time?”

She could practically hear Ryan shrugging over the phone. “Love, I guess.”

“I think I’m just going to pray that he’s back to normal soon. A toddler that’s as tall as you is a scary thing.”

“Ugh, I don’t even want to  _think_  about it. They’re bad enough when they only come up to your knees.”

They chatted a bit more before Lindsay’s almost constant yawning had her end the call. Wriggling out of her jeans and wishing she’d thought to grab some pajamas for herself (no way in hell she was going into the bedroom and risking waking Michael up, though), Lindsay pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, curling up with one of the throw pillows under her head and hoping that exhaustion would outweigh discomfort and let her get some sleep.

–

Early morning sun was filtering in through the sliding glass door to the porch when someone calling her name woke her up. Lindsay opened her eyes with a small groan, jumping slightly to see Michael standing over her. “Michael?”

“Lindsay…” He repeated slowly, staring down at her. Something seemed different about him, but her sleep-addled brain couldn’t quite place it. “Why the fuck is the touch lamp in our bedroom? And why the ever-loving  _fuck_  are you sleeping on the  _couch_?”

It snapped into place almost audibly as soon as he cussed and Lindsay nearly flung herself from the couch, arms around Michael’s neck and lips pressing firmly to his. “Oh thank fucking god you’re back to normal, Michael!” She cried, feeling his arms slip around her, relishing in the way his lips pressed to hers—the very  _adult_  way that he kissed her.

“What the fuck are you talking about, dummy?” He questioned, ruffling her hair affectionately and kissing her cheeks.

Lindsay rolled her eyes. “It’s a long story…” She felt tears forming in her eyes, felt his thumb wipe them away. His eyes were searching her, concerned and frightened and full of all the complexities of adulthood that had been lacking yesterday. “It’s just…  a really long story.” She whispered again, pulling him in for another kiss. It was a story that could wait for another time. For now, she just wanted to hold on to him as her adult boyfriend, rather than as a toddler.


End file.
